


It's Tradition!

by ThePraxianWeasleyGeek



Series: Christmas giftfics 2018 [1]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: (seriously this wasn't supposed to be shippy but he needed SOMEONE to bounce off of), Accidental Blitzarachnia, Blitzwing setting things on fire, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Gratuitous quantities of snark, Robots and human culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 02:50:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17174465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePraxianWeasleyGeek/pseuds/ThePraxianWeasleyGeek
Summary: Blitzwing has a new favourite holiday tradition, and Blackarachnia is less than impressed.





	It's Tradition!

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas present for my tumblr/TFNation friend! She asked for 'Blitzwing being happy' and I did my best to comply, although it got a little shippier than intended.

 

It was generally accepted that, on any given day where he had so much as a moment of free time, Blitzwing would be Up To Something. 

 

Whether that something consisted of dubious off-the-books experiments, elaborately constructed pranks, or simply spoiling for a fight, varied depending on which persona had woken up with the best idea; though there might also be the odd day where he’d manage to marshall all sides of his mind into cooperation. Then, one never knew quite what to expect. 

 

Blackarachnia had grown used to finding herself near the epicentre of his nonsense, particularly if Icy was involved - that was her equipment he was borrowing, after all, since he wasn’t actually science division. 

 

Finding herself barred from her own lab, however, was a new and unwelcome development. 

 

“BLITZWING!” 

 

The techno-organic slammed her fists against the door - for all the good it’d do. She’d reinforced the damn thing herself. 

 

“ _ Ja? _ ” came the sing-song reply, and she cursed. If there was anything worse than being locked out of her lab, it was  _ Random _ being the one with his digit on the mechanism. 

 

“Blitzwing, you open this up  _ right now _ , or the next time you see me will be  _ from under a pile of rubble! _ I meant it! I’ll get Lugnut to blast the whole fragging wall down!” 

 

“That,” said Icy, cooly, “would be highly counter-intuitive. I can see several volatile-looking concoctions in here, not to mention a rather delicate engineering project.” 

 

Blackarachnia swore again, going for a kick this time. Pain blossomed at the end of her pede. 

 

“Maybe I’m hoping they’ll explode in your face!” 

 

Random cackled. “Which one? I  _ knew _ you had a favourite!” 

 

“Actually, right now it’s a three-way tie on which one I hate more!” 

 

She sighed, and pinched the top of her nasal ridge. “Just… tell me what in Primus’ name you’re doing, so we at least get an accurate post-mortem.” 

 

“It’s a surprise!” 

 

With that, he began humming, loudly and pointedly. Blackarachnia had to resist the urge to kick the door again when she recognised the strains of  _ The Itsy-Bitsy Spider _ . 

 

* * *

 

Blitzwing emerged later that day carrying a sealed crate, which he hid in the corner of their berthroom and refused to speak about, no matter how much Blackarachnia prodded him. Which, granted, was at every opportunity, but in fairness there were precious few of them: some sort of human holiday was going on at this time of year, that Blitzwing seemed unaccountably fascinated with. He’d signed up for extra patrols just so he could sneak off and snoop at the goings-on in Detroit.

 

Which just meant that Blackarachnia had to get creative. 

 

“Blitzwing.”

 

“No.”

 

“Blitzwing.”

 

“Frag off.”

 

“ _ Blitzwing _ .”

 

“‘M trying to  _ sleep _ ,” Hothead grumbled, and rolled over onto his side.

 

Blackarachnia followed him, singularly determined, and clambered up to perch on his shoulder.

 

“ _ Listen _ ,” she said, swatting at his face, when he dimmed his visor in an insolent sort of way. “I’m  _ going _ to find out what’s in that crate. You used materials from my lab - next time I take inventory I’ll figure out what’s missing, and I can work backwards from there.”

 

“If you’re so sure of that,” said Icy, voice muffled by his pillow, “why are you waking me up to tell me so?” 

 

“Because i want to make a bet.” And oh, that had his attention. “If I can work out what you were doing by… uh”-

 

“- Christmas Day,” he supplied drowsily. 

 

Blackarachnia squinted. “Christmas Day, then, whatever the frag that is. I figure it out, and you sign on as my personal lab assistant for a month.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want me in your lab?”

 

“Not if you’re gonna cause trouble. But if you’re actually making yourself useful - y’know, fetching and carrying, cleaning up stains…”

 

“Drone work, in other words.”

 

“Mm,” Blackarachnia agreed, patting his face with more affection this time. 

 

“And if you can’t guess?”

 

“You get no-holds-barred access to my lab for a month, I won’t stop you.” 

 

The sheer glee on Random’s face as he materialised should have been a warning sign, all things considered. 

 

“Deal!”

 

* * *

 

And to her credit, Blackarachnia did  _ try _ . She spent the next few days poring incessantly over inventories and lists of equipment, chemicals, and the uses thereof. She reverse-engineered countless formulae in her downtime, but couldn't see what Blitzwing would want with  _ any _ of them; everything she produced was rather boring, all flame-retardant coatings and fuel preservatives. 

 

Not even Icy would find that interesting. It was all too  _ useful _ , none of it fun, or dubious, or challenging or new. 

 

“I'm starting to wonder,” Blackarachnia grumbled, as she flopped down next to him in the mess, “whether there's actually nothing in that damn crate, and you're just screwing with me.”

 

Icy, looking entirely too smug, merely sipped his ration cube. 

 

“Wait, is that - is that it? There  _ isn't _ anything, is there?! You just used up some of my basic supplies and pretended to make something out of them!”

 

“Hm. I'm afraid not,  _ Schätzchen _ . There is, absolutely, something in the box.”

 

With a wordless noise of frustration, Blackarachnia mimed throttling him. Blitzwing had the audacity to look even more pleased with himself. 

 

“You'd better figure it out soon, too!” Random said as he slid into place. “Tomorrow's Christmas Day!”

 

As he got up to leave, he reached over and tweaked the air above her nose. 

 

“Don't forget to leave cookies out for Santa Claus!”

 

“...  _ The frag is a Santa Claus?! _ ”

 

* * *

 

 The same time the next morning found them both sat back in the mess, Blackarachnia looking decidedly sullen. Random grinned wide as he propped an elbow on the table and propped his face on his hand, and turned the full force of his smugness towards her. 

 

“Any last guesses?” 

 

“Best I can tell,” said the techno-organic, glaring into the dregs of her cube, “It’s some kind of fireproof fuel preservative.” 

 

Blitzwing was very quiet for a moment. When she glanced up at him his eyes were wide, and his usually-wide mouth had shrunk into a startled pout. 

 

“Holy slag, did I just guess it?”

 

“Hmm… Nope!” The jagged smile was back. “You still haven't figured out what it's for!”

 

“Don't I at least get partial credit”-

 

He pressed a finger to her lips, and a moment later Icy appeared. 

 

“Wait here. You’ll see what it's all about in a kilk.”

 

With that he was off once again, vanishing out of the door. Blackarachnia groaned and dropped her head to the table - and didn't lift it again until a flurry of muttering broke out further down the mess. 

 

Blitzwing was back, the mischief in Random’s face evident even from across the room, as he hefted the crate over his head. More than one pair of curious optics tracked his progress, which meant Blackarachnia became the subject of more than one puzzled stare when the box was set down in front of her. 

 

“Ta-da!” Random exclaimed, removing the top with a flourish. 

 

Blackarachnia blinked, then frowned - then glared up at him. 

 

“... It's an energon dessert.”

 

“Yep!”

 

“You little - !” She leapt to her feet, slamming her servos on the table. “I guessed this already and you said I was wrong!”

 

She could at least see, now why he'd needed the preservatives: somehow - and given the instability of energon it was admittedly rather impressive - Blitzwing had managed to create a gelatinous dome with the top sliced off, spotted through with various minerals. It looked appetising, certainly, but… 

 

“I wouldn't have bet on you coming up with something this  _ boring _ .”

 

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Looking mutinous, Hothead spun into place, clenching his fists. 

 

“You think this is  _ boring _ ?!” he thundered, while Blackarachnia rolled her eyes. “How about we spice things up!”

 

His shoulder cannons clicked into position. 

 

Aiming right at the energon. 

 

That made Blackarachnia sit up and take notice… along with half the mess hall. There was a mad scramble to take cover under the tables, but in all the commotion Blitzwing had already fired. A gout of flame flashed overhead, and Blackarachnia braced for the explosion - 

 

-That never came. 

 

Blinking in surprise, she cautiously poked her head back above the tabletop, more than a little afraid of what she might find. 

 

The dessert was on fire. Not in a volatile, brink-of-disaster sense, either - it crackled merrily away, suffused in tall, blue flames that danced up and down, perfectly docile, and even in the middle of all that the fuel seemed completely unaffected. Startled muttering had sprung up among the Decepticons who’d dared come out of hiding. 

 

“It worked!” 

 

Random had his fingers pressed over his mouth, optics glowing with delight. Blackarachnia fixed him with a disapproving, disbelieving stare. 

 

“Please don't tell me that you locked me out of my lab, and then  _ never even did a test run _ .” 

 

“Of course I didn't!” he said. “Where's the fun in that? And it took me long enough to make it taste right anyway.”

 

Slowly, carefully, the techno-organic inhaled, exhaled, and managed to resist the impulse to flip the flaming dessert straight into his face. 

 

“...  _ Why? _ ” she finally managed, in a strangled voice. 

 

“It’s a human tradition! They make fancy food on this holiday, and then they set it all on fire! Isn't it  _ perfect? _ ”

 

Yes, Blackarachnia had to admit - that  _ was _ Blitzwing’s idea of a perfect holiday tradition.

 

He used his month in the lab to make fifty more of the things. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For anyone non-British who's confused by the ending: there's a tradition over here that you make Christmas Pudding - a sort of very dense, rich, sticky cake full of fruit and shaped like an upside-down bowl - and then you douse it in booze and set it on fire. Then wait for the flames to go out before eating it. I just got the feeling Blitzwing would love that idea (slightly based on the fact that my Canadian girlfriend was utterly delighted when she learned about it :p).


End file.
